Her Gallant Captain at Waterloo

by Diane Gaston

  Helene extended her hand towards the woman and said in French, ‘This is Mrs Jacobs.’ She turned back to Rhys. ‘Captain Landon. He is an old friend...’ she paused ‘...of Wilson’s.’

  ‘Captain.’ The woman nodded to him. She had one of those faces that seemed to smile even when at rest.

  ‘How is he?’ Rhys kept his attention on the nurse.

  ‘Feverish.’ Mrs Jacobs’s brow furrowed in worry. She turned back to Wilson and placed a cloth on his forehead.

  ‘He is no better,’ Helene said in a worried voice.

  Rhys turned to her. ‘What are you still doing here?’

  Mrs Jacobs answered for her. ‘Mademoiselle insists upon staying. Although if you ask me, she looks in great need of a rest. I told her I am quite capable—’

  Helene broke in. ‘It is not that. I know you are capable. It’s that I left my brother a note that I was here. I am waiting for him. We are to eat dinner together.’

  ‘Did you eat dinner?’ Rhys asked the nurse.

  The woman nodded. ‘Mademoiselle sent for food for me and for our patient.’

  Rhys extended his hand to Helene. ‘Come,’ he ordered. ‘David is in the hotel. I’ll take you to him.’

  He fixed her with a determined glare. After a pause, she obeyed.

  * * *

  Helene disliked this change in Rhys—ordering her about as if she were one of his soldiers. The only time she caught glimpses of her once kind and attentive friend was when he spoke to Wilson. Why did he insist upon taking her to David? Why not simply tell her where to find her brother? She was so worn out from worry and too little rest, though, that she went along with him without protest.

  ‘I will take you to David’s room,’ he intoned in that dictatorial voice. ‘He likely is there by now.’

  He led her to David’s room. David did not answer their knock.

  ‘Perhaps he is waiting for you in the dining room,’ Rhys said.

  She was too tired to tell Rhys she knew the way to the dining room.

  After they descended the steps and reached the hall, Rhys asked the hall servant. ‘That young fellow I walked in with, have you seen him again?’

  ‘Non, Capitaine,’ the man said.

  Rhys had walked in with David? From where?

  Rhys faced her. ‘He could still be in the dining room.’

  She finally found her voice. ‘Thank you, Rhys. I will look for him in the dining room. Whether he is there or not, I am going to eat. I’m too tired and hungry to chase him all around the hotel.’

  To her surprise, he followed her.

  ‘You do not have to accompany me,’ she said.

  ‘I will see if David is there,’ he responded.

  It was nearly nine o’clock and the dining room was full. Several tables were filled with officers enjoying their food and drink, their voices loud, their laughter louder. Helene looked over the room but did not see David anywhere.

  ‘He is not here,’ she said.

  The dining room servant approached them. ‘Shall I show you to a table?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Helene responded, her empty stomach responding to the smell of the food.

  To her surprise Rhys also followed the servant, who led them across the room.

  ‘Really, Rhys,’ she said to him. ‘Do not feel obligated to stay. I can dine alone.’

  His gaze swept the crowd. ‘I fancy a glass of wine.’

  The servant showed them to a small table in a discreet corner. It was the sort of table she once would have relished sharing with Rhys, private enough to pretend they were utterly alone. What cruel jokes fate was playing on her, giving her what she’d once most yearned for, reminding her again of what she’d given up.

  They sat across from each other.

  Another servant approached their table.

  ‘You should try the cooked mussels,’ Rhys said to her. ‘If they have them. It is a Brussels specialty.’

  ‘We have mussels,’ the servant said.

  ‘And frites,’ Rhys added.

  This time she was grateful he was telling her what to do. She had no energy to make a decision. ‘Very well.’

  He ordered wine for them both, but nothing else for him.

  ‘Are you not eating, Rhys?’ she asked.

  ‘I ate earlier.’ He nodded for the servant to leave.

  Suddenly she pictured him separate from her company, doing things. Soldier things? Dining, where? With whom? Who peopled his life? Friends...? Women?

  But his life was none of her affair.

  ‘Is the nurse satisfactory?’ His gaze just missed meeting hers.

  She fiddled with the silver fork set before her. ‘She seems so.’

  He lowered his gaze to the table, giving her a view of his thick dark lashes. His chin was shaded with a dusting of beard at this late hour. So much of her memory of him was as a smooth-faced youth. This very masculine image made him appear almost like a different person. Someone she no longer knew at all.

  After the food arrived he watched her eat while he sipped his wine, his full lips moistened by the burgundy-coloured liquid. Hungry though she was, it made it difficult to swallow.

  As she was forcing another bite of mussel, he suddenly said, ‘You and David must leave Brussels as soon as possible.’

  This latest command took her aback. ‘As soon as Wilson is well enough to travel.’

  His gaze bore into her. ‘That could be days. Weeks, even. Leave tomorrow.’

  Tomorrow? Impossible. ‘I cannot leave Wilson!’

  He lowered his voice. ‘Heed me. Napoleon plans a march on Brussels. Any day now.’

  She understood then. He was warning her. ‘This is certain?’

  He looked away. ‘Almost certain.’

  Helene certainly did not want to be in Brussels when Napoleon tried to breach its walls, but Wilson’s illness changed things. ‘I really must stay in Brussels until Wilson is well.’

  ‘I will see he is looked after,’ Rhys said.

  She raised her eyes and her gaze locked with his. ‘How? You will be fighting in the battle.’

  Rhys would be in the thick of it, with cannonballs and musket balls and swords and lances all flying towards him, trying to kill him. And, even though he’d changed, even though he might wish to never see her again, that thought was like a knife piercing her heart.

  As it had been every time news reached England of another battle, until she read through the casualty list and his name did not appear.

  Her gaze did not waver. ‘I promise you, David, Wilson and I will leave as soon as Wilson can travel.’

  * * *

  Rhys took another sip of wine. Her blue eyes had a powerful effect on him, pulling him back to those old halcyon days they’d shared together. He ought to have known better than to accompany her to dinner, but if he had not, she’d have been a woman dining alone, one small lamb amid a room full of hungry wolves in army uniforms.

  He tried to thrust his thoughts away from what might have been between them. The truth was, he ought to thank her for spurning him. If she had not, he would never have had the opportunity to join the army. He valued being an officer in the East Essex regiment. Valued leading his men. He even relished the excitement of battle—almost as much as he hated its carnage. If he’d not become an officer in the army, what would he be?

  He’d never been given the chance to find out.

  She broke the silence between them. ‘Tell me. How will this battle happen?’

  He could talk about this. ‘No one knows for certain what route Napoleon will take, but he will come. He will want to take Brussels. He will want to face Wellington.’

  Rhys would feel more secure about this impending battle if the Allied army under Wellington consisted of more seasoned British troops and if enough time passed for the Prussian
s to provide support. If the Russian troops had time to arrive, Napoleon would be vastly outnumbered, but, of course, Napoleon realised this. That was why he would strike quickly. Napoleon was known for splitting forces and emerging victorious.

  Napoleon was also capable of spectacular defeats, though. Like in Egypt. And Russia.

  None of this would be helpful for her to know, however. Better she and her brother—and Wilson—be safely away.

  A line of worry formed between her dark perfectly arched brows. ‘So is there a danger we won’t win?’

  Could she still read his mind? When they were young, they often knew what the other was thinking. ‘I would rather march under Wellington’s command than any other. And I have done so many times.’

  She expelled a breath and her forehead relaxed a bit. Rhys continued to sip his wine, trying not to watch her eat.

  When she’d finished not even half of what was on her plate, she placed her fork down. ‘That was delicious, Rhys,’ she said. ‘Thank you for suggesting it.’

  Then why had she eaten so little of it?

  She stood, as did he. ‘I will just check on Wilson one more time, I believe.’

  He escorted her out of the dining room, stopping to arrange the meal to be charged to him.

  ‘No, Rhys,’ she protested. ‘I will pay.’

  He bristled at this reminder of her wealth. He was no longer penniless. ‘No,’ he commanded the servant. ‘Charge it to me.’

  She started walking to the staircase. He caught up with her.

  ‘You should allow me to pay,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I will come with you to Wilson’s room. I, too, wish to check on him.’

  They walked together in silence, up the stairs and down the dimly lit hallways to the servants’ rooms. The oil lamps illuminating their way were smaller and much further between than in the hallways of the more expensive rooms. When they reached Wilson’s door, Rhys knocked lightly.

  The nurse opened it.

  ‘I just wanted to see how he is, Mrs Jacobs.’ Helene stepped inside. ‘Is he any better?’

  The nurse smiled benevolently. ‘There has been no change in the last hour, mademoiselle. It is too soon for improvement in my experience. Let us see how he does by morning.’

  Helene walked over to Wilson’s bed and felt his forehead. She adjusted his covers and swept his damp hair off his face. Her gentle gesture made Rhys’s throat tighten with an emotion he did not wish to feel.

  Mrs Jacobs stepped closer to her and put her hand on Helene’s shoulder. ‘Mademoiselle, I will take good care of him. You get your rest. Go with your handsome captain here and do not fret over our patient.’

  Helene shot a glance at Rhys when the nurse said ‘your handsome captain’.

  ‘Check on him in the morning, Helene,’ Rhys said.

  She reluctantly backed away from the bed but turned to Mrs Jacobs. ‘You will send for me if he takes a turn for the worse?’

  The nurse patted her hand. ‘I will. Certainement.’

  ‘Do you need anything?’ Rhys asked the woman.

  She shook her head. ‘There is a nice footman in the room next to this who has agreed to summon help for me, if needed. He does not mind if I have to wake him, but I do not expect that to be necessary. You may both rest easy.’

  Rhys nodded to her and opened the door. Helene reluctantly followed him into the dark hallway. Walking in the dark reminded him of once when he and Helene both sneaked out of their houses and met in the garden at Yarford House. They’d walked hand in hand down the paths and shared a secret kiss behind the hedges. She must have been sixteen and he, eighteen.

  When they reached the main staircase, she said, ‘Goodnight, Rhys. I believe I will try one more time to see if David is in his room, before I retire.’

  What would she do if David was not there? Go out searching for him like the night before? Only this time there would be no Wilson to accompany her and offer her his meagre protection.

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ Rhys said.

  Chapter Five

  At least Helene did not argue with him for accompanying her. Rhys told himself he was only remaining with her because the hotel was filled with officers and other men in town who did not have enough to entertain them and plenty of opportunity to consume a lot of Belgian beer.

  When they neared David’s room, the boy had just stepped out into the hallway, humming a tune.

  His cheerful expression drooped when he spied his sister. ‘Oh. Helene.’ He gave Rhys a more cordial look. ‘Rhys.’

  Helene faced her brother, elbows akimbo. ‘Where are you going, David? It must be after ten o’clock.’

  ‘I am going out.’ He jutted out his chin. ‘It is not so very late.’

  She glared at him. ‘Where have you been all day? I left you so many messages. About Wilson—’

  ‘I know. I know,’ he interrupted. ‘Wilson is sick. I am sorry for it, but you already told me there was nothing I could do.’

  Her voice rose. ‘You might at least have sent me a note informing me as to your whereabouts. And that you would not meet me for dinner.’

  He looked chagrined. ‘Yes. Dinner. So sorry about that. Slipped my mind.’

  Rhys thought again that it should be David who acted as Helene’s escort, not him.

  ‘So where were you all day?’ Helene demanded.

  David pursed his lips. ‘Not that it is any of your affair, I’ll have you know that I was with William Lennox. He is here with his parents, the Duke and Duchess, and he will likely have an important role in the battle—if his eye heals quickly enough.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘And if you do not believe me, ask Rhys, because William and I had dinner with Rhys and another captain in the army.’

  She shot Rhys a severe glance.

  ‘I told you I saw him,’ Rhys said.

  ‘Not that you had dinner with him.’

  David ranted on. ‘You are not my keeper, Helene. You cannot tell me what I may and may not do. With whom I may and may not dine. I want to go out now and you cannot stop me.’ His voice turned shrill, like a child having a tantrum.

  Rhys stepped forward, looming over the boy. ‘Mind your tongue, David.’

  David shrugged his shoulders. ‘She’s only my sister. She has no business trying to manage my life.’

  ‘I came because it is not safe for you to be in Brussels, David,’ Helene said. ‘You should not have come. You need to be home.’

  ‘Well, as Wilson is ill, we are staying, are we not? I am going out!’ David pushed past them and strode swiftly down the hall.

  ‘David—’ Rhys started after him, but Helene seized his arm.

  ‘Let him go,’ she said. ‘I am too angry at him to have more words with him tonight.’

  Her touch flooded Rhys with memories.

  And temptation.

  She looked surprised at herself and abruptly released him. She glanced down the hall where David disappeared. ‘I do hope he will not drink too much again.’

  ‘After last night, he should have learned his lesson.’ Although did Rhys know any young man who remembered a morning headache when night-time fell? ‘You will not go after him,’ he insisted in as firm a voice as he could muster.

  ‘No.’ Her voice sounded both stressed and weary. ‘I will not go after him.’

  Rhys walked by her side to her room. His arm still felt the pressure of her slender fingers and he remembered, a long time ago, twining her fingers through his and admiring their graceful beauty.

  ‘Goodnight, Rhys,’ she said as soon as they reached her room. ‘Thank you again.’

  She unlocked the door and disappeared inside.

  Rhys stepped back and stared at the closed door, then he turned away and started towards his room. After passing the stairway, he stopped and reversed direction.
r />   ‘Cursed boy!’ he said aloud.

  He descended the stairs and made his way to the outside, feeling obligated to make certain David Banes returned to this hotel without doing a thing to worry his sister.

  * * *

  Helene rang for a maid to attend her and crawled into bed as soon as the woman left, but she tangled herself in her bed linens trying to quiet her racing mind and restless emotions.

  She wished she could say her struggle was due to her anger at David or her worry over Wilson. Those concerns certainly were not conducive to sleep, but, if honest with herself, it was Rhys who kept Morpheus at bay.

  She had to admit she loved seeing him again. His handsome face. His deepened voice moved her, even when his imperious tone grated at her nerves. She did not understand why he insisted upon being in her company when he obviously derived no pleasure from it. Especially because it had been she who sent him away. It had taken her a long time to accept that she would never see him again. Now, after accepting it, here he was.

  A different person.

  * * *

  In the morning she woke still thinking of him. The maid arrived to help her dress. Afterward she left her room to check on Wilson.

  The nurse answered her knock. ‘Good morning, mademoiselle.’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Jacobs.’ She entered the room. ‘How is he?’

  ‘No worse.’ Mrs Jacobs moved away so Helene could approach the bed. ‘He has been sleeping these last two hours, more quietly, I think.’

  The room was tidy, and Wilson was comfortably propped up on pillows, the bed covers neatly over him. His breathing was ragged, but he was still.

  That might be a good sign, although her parents had moved in and out of delirium before their fevers robbed them of life. She remembered some moments of rest, too, before her own fever deprived her of her senses. At least she had awakened from the fever and survived.

  ‘What of you?’ she asked the nurse. ‘Were you able to rest?’

  ‘Oui, mademoiselle,’ she responded cheerfully. ‘He slept. I slept. We got on very well.’